


a taste of the dawn

by halfaday



Series: doyu drabbles [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26319010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: The morning after (preceding all the other ones).
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: doyu drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906981
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	a taste of the dawn

It's kind of like a dream: Yuta's long black hair contrasting with the white of his sheets; his calm breathing filling the room; his body so close Dongyoung can feel the warmth emanating from him; the impression that this moment is timeless, and that they can never do — that he can never have — better.

All dreams do is lie, all dreams do is break — Dongyoung had learnt about it every time his alarm rung; every time he turned to look at an empty bed; every time he passed Yuta's desk, and was met with a friendly smile — he's taught this lesson again, as Yuta's eyes flutter open, and the prettiest shade of red paints his cheeks - as he hides his face in his hands, and rolls on his side to escape Dongyoung's gaze. Unlike any dream Dongyoung has ever had — grounding itself in reality, and never once fleeing, no matter how many times Dongyoung pinches his own arm, no matter how long he waits. The prettiest reality, incomparable to the sweet, but dull shade dreams take on — vibrant, vivid, painting Dongyoung's world the most beautiful colour.

Much better than a dream.

'This is embarrassing.'

Dongyoung blinks, registers Yuta's words — takes a detour before answering, gaze wandering on his naked back, on his small shoulders — hands itching to hold him close, and lips yearning to kiss his nape, his shoulders, his spine; his lips, a thousand times first, a million times later; everything, every part of him, always. 

'What is?' Dongyoung asks. 'Sleeping with me?'

'No. No.' Yuta takes a peek at him, immediately goes back to hiding his face when their eyes meet. He moans — a noise full of shame, more like the Yuta Dongyoung is used to, except today he wears no clothes, and no desk separates them — except today they're in bed, and what lies between them is much more than friendship. 'It's… You being up before me. How long have you been staring?'

The corners of the dream (reality) call to Dongyoung, and pull him to the very edge — blow away the haze that's been floating in the room, and make things - less blurry - more tangible.

'Something wrong with that?'

Yuta groans, sighs — finally rolls on his back, hands still covering his face. Very unlike who he is at the office, a little similar to who he is outside of work, at restaurants and unexpected meetings — not at all what Dongyoung had pictured when he'd dreamt about this, and yet… fitting, much more than he could ever have wished for.

'You don't want me to stare?'

'It's… Not. That. It's,' Yuta says, trails off, voice muffled by his hands — pretty, pretty hands, that fit perfectly in Dongyoung's last night, that softly, quietly ask him to hold them again — hands that part after a few seconds of silence, and that come to rest on Yuta's chest, near his collarbones. Dongyoung waits, quiet — lets his eyes linger on the sight before looking back up. 'You woke up before me, and it's hella embarrassing. What if I have a booger in my eye? What if I grew a pimple during the night? You're all dolled up. Not me.'

The remnants of the dream break, and Dongyoung follows their lead — he bursts into laughter, loud, louder than usual — unexpected, but fulfilling, amusing. At his right Yuta struggles to see what's funny, struggles to understand his reaction, but he offers a timid smile — seems to reconsider his words, and it's what calms Dongyoung down, what brings him back to the moment — he quiets down, and offers Yuta what he hopes to be a comforting smile.

'I'm not dolled up at all,' he says, gets interrupted by Yuta, a mumbled _you look like you are._ 'I'm not,' he repeats, refraining from grinning like an idiot. 'I actually didn't take your point into consideration until you mentioned it. So I imagine I'm lucky.'

He blushes at the insinuation he's trying to make, extends a hand towards Yuta. There's no telling Yuta understands, but he takes the offer, interlaces their fingers. (And just like last night: their hands fit perfectly together.)

'Don't worry. You have no booger. No pimple. You look good. Great. Always.'

He lays a kiss on Yuta's knuckles, comes to the conclusion it is nowhere near enough — he peppers kisses on his hand as he carries on, delights in being able to do such a thing.

'I haven't been up for long anyway,' he continues. 'Five, ten minutes. Long enough to tell you you looked amazing. That you still do.'

'I'm nowhere near your level, though.'

Yuta pulls on the hand in his, snakes an arm around Dongyoung's waist as Dongyoung allows gravity (Yuta) to take him down — as he settles on, against his chest, and gets just a little lost in his eyes, just a little found in his arms. He could swear the dreamy bubble reappears to isolate them from the world — could: being in love with Yuta is an occupation that requires all his time, and he doesn't intend to waste any of it on testing the atmosphere.

(So he focuses on doing just that, and kisses Yuta's hand once again — flushes as it deserts his, and instead cups his face, thumb stroking his cheek, remaining fingers holding him preciously but firmly, as if he were a masterpiece Yuta has dreamt of touching for years, decades.)

'You _are_ dolled up, Dongyoung. Naturally dolled up.'

Dongyoung rolls his eyes, sighs. Opens his mouth to argue — but Yuta kisses the tip of his nose, and his ability to speak vanishes into thin air.

'I do like the you that works with me. You always wear the best suits, and you look insanely hot in shirts. That's a fact.' Yuta chuckles, caresses his jaw, his lips — gets a little lost in his admiration of Dongyoung, before continuing, 'But I might like this version of you a little more.'

Dongyoung, poor mortal rendered speechless under Yuta's touch, Yuta's gaze, can only swallow in reply — can only tilt his head in question, and wait for him to carry on, to explain his mind. Yuta does not notice. Or perhaps he does, but, cruel angel that he is, he pecks Dongyoung on the nose once again, renders him even more speechless.

'Tousled hair, shiny eyes, no shirt or tie, no clothes leaving me to imagine what's underneath… No glasses, no watermelon lip balm… You in your barest form, and yet still so beautiful. More ethereal than any god I've ever studied, than any painting I've seen for the last decade. A beauty that the world can only get once, and never again. Are you even aware…'

Yuta cuts himself off, smiles — strokes Dongyoung's cheekbone lovingly, simply sets his heart on fire.

'I get to see the very rare freckles. Lucky me.'

Dongyoung implodes, mentally — flushes, definitely, and decides he's had enough: he burrows his face in Yuta's chest, and groans very loudly.

'Stop,' he begs. 'Stop. I don't even like them.'

'But I do,' Yuta argues, lighthearted. 'They have that _je-te-fais-roi,_ or whatever the idiom is. They're cute. And- aw, you even have them on your ears!'

'They make me look five or fifty, no in-between.' Feeling fingers pinching his ears, Dongyoung decides to put a very-needed distance between his ears and Yuta's prying self — reluctantly, he pushes himself off Yuta, hovers over him, hands at each side of his head. 'And it's _je-ne-sais-quoi.'_

'Don't care,' Yuta laughs, 'you look just your age, you know. No five or fifty. Just present Dongyoung.'

He smiles, sweetly sweetly sweetly, nose scrunched up and grin stretching from ear to ear — he wraps both arms around Dongyoung's neck, and asks him, in a whisper, to come down, to come just a little closer — greets him with the lightest kiss on his cheek (on his freckles, most probably) when he obliges, and erases their entire discussion, the entire world with another on his lips — and another — and another — and another.

Many, many kisses — too many to keep track of, too many to really care about. Dongyoung feels himself lose his equilibrium, his very upright place in the world, but it doesn't matter. After all, it's fine: Yuta is here to hold him steady, to breathe life back into him — to murmur against his lips, that he really likes his freckles, his face, his entire self; that he's quite enamoured with present Dongyoung, and he's lucky to be able to say it out loud. Nonsense, would Dongyoung say at any other time — but like this, securely held by Yuta, sheltered from anything that isn't him, he can really just kiss him back, again and again and again, and slip in, in-between two osculations, that he feels just the same, that he's just as lucky — he can really only express himself with kisses, and hope that Yuta understands, hope that he knows that _Dongyoung_ understands.

 _I really like you,_ he words with his lips, with a caress, with a sigh — with his heart, knocking against Yuta's, asking to be let in. With his very being, with the hope to be understood.

And Yuta smiles against his lips, tugs him closer before kissing him back — his hands keep him safe, and his heart echoes Dongyoung's: it takes his confession, and whispers one of its own too — it wraps around him, and shelters him from the rest of the world. 

Sinking into its embrace — Dongyoung knows it understands.

**Author's Note:**

> je te fais roi: i make you king (not an actual idiom)
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/millesoirees)


End file.
